


Silence is Golden

by VelkynKarma



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Gen, Shiro (Voltron)-centric, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 16:42:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9394127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VelkynKarma/pseuds/VelkynKarma
Summary: It's just a sore throat. It's really not that big a deal. But the rest of team Voltron doesn't really see it that way—and Shiro's taking a day off whether he likes it or not.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BossToaster (ChaoticReactions)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaoticReactions/gifts).



> Part of another fic exchange with BossToaster! Go check out her half, "Dark Necessities," as well.

At the end of the day, right before he goes to bed, Shiro notices a vague tingling sensation at the back of his throat.  
  
He doesn’t think anything of it. They’d had a big mission that day and he’d spent a lot of time talking and yelling, constantly giving orders to deal with the onslaught of Galra opponents they’d faced. His throat is just a little tired. No big deal.  
  
The next day when he wakes up he wholeheartedly regrets his decision to ignore the initial warning sign.  
  
His throat is sore. Like, really sore. Swallowing-is-a-literal pain levels of sore. It’s not comfortable, and he has no idea if this is a precursor to anything else. It _could_ just be because he’d done so much shouting yesterday. But he also almost always gets a sore throat before the rest of a serious cold sets in. It tends to be the first symptom for him.  
  
He grits his teeth. Well, nothing for it. For now the rest of him feels just fine. No stuffed or runny nose, no cough (his throat is thankful for that at least), no dizziness, no weak limbs. A sore throat is miserable, but not enough to put the day’s activities on hold, not when they have so much to get done. Allura’s still figuring out the next plan of action after yesterday’s planet liberation, but that means they need to get training in while they can. He’ll just have to suck it up and deal.  
  
He suits up and heads down to breakfast, where everyone is already at the table, enjoying their morning bowl of food goo. Lance is also nursing a steaming cup of the Altean equivalent of coffee, and still looks half asleep—he’s still not much of a morning person if forced to get up before his usual hour, even months later. Pidge is eyeing the cup enviously, which probably means she had a late night working on some project or another, but Lance is clutching it too possessively for her to steal. Keith, Hunk, and the Alteans look perfectly awake, at least. Hunk is currently engaged in an animated conversation with Coran and Allura, explaining the many amazing qualities of bacon enthusiastically, while Keith watches in bemusement. Keith nods a quiet hello, and Hunk breaks from his conversation for half a second to give Shiro a cheerful ‘good morning’ wave.  
  
Shiro lets them get on with it, and quietly dishes himself up a bowlful of goo. Thankfully, while food goo texture takes some getting used to, it _is_ relatively gentle on his throat. Swallowing is still not all that fun, but at least it’s not actually painful to eat.  
  
“—plan today, Shiro?”  
  
Shiro blinks, and glances up at the group. The spork of food goo is still in his mouth, and he lets out a muffled “mmph?” of acknowledgement as he hastily tries to swallow it all quickly without wincing.  
  
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to catch you with your mouth full,” Hunk says, sounding sheepish. “Just wanted to know what the plan was for today. Maybe we can make sure Pidge and Lance are conscious for it.”  
  
“It should be illegal to be conscious this early in the morning,” Pidge mutters. Lance lets out a grunt of agreement.  
  
Plans. Training. Right. Shiro’s been trying to think of how to rearrange the schedule to something he doesn’t have to talk them through too much, and finally decides. “Meditation practice this morning, and we’ll have you guys run the maze after. Lion flight drills in the afternoon,” he says.  
  
Or, more specifically, _tries_ to say.  
  
What actually comes out is a warped and terrible imitation of his voice. It sounds incredibly hoarse and raspy, and the pitch is off. Some syllables just don’t come out at all—he can feel himself talking, feel his lungs pushing air out through his throat, but no _sound_ happens. He gives up trying to say anything after ‘morning.’  
  
_Oh._ Well then. He probably should have expected that. He doesn’t just have a sore throat; apparently he’s lost his whole damn _voice._  
  
Everyone stares at him. Even Pidge and Lance have pulled themselves out of the realm of morning unconsciousness to regard him with wide eyes.  
  
“What has _happened?_ ” Allura says after a moment, looking alarmed.  
  
“A _gorflux_ may have settled in his lungs,” Coran says, sounding equally alarmed. “Once it’s laid its eggs it’s said to steal the voice from its hosts—“  
  
And _there’s_ a terrifying image Shiro’s never going to un-see. It sounds like something straight out of _Alien_ or some other old sci-fi movie…which, okay, they are in space, anything’s possible now he supposes, but _no._ Just. _No._  
  
“It’s fine,” he says, voice still raspy and warped. Every word strains his throat a little. “No…no gorflux or whatever. It’s just a sore throat. It happens sometimes—“  
  
“Oh my _God,_ Shiro, just _stop. Stop talking_ ,” Pidge says, with a groan. “You sound _terrible_. That’s got to hurt.”  
  
“S’prolly just laryngitis,” Lance volunteers from the end of the table. He interrupts himself with a massive yawn, then adds, “Some’ve my younger siblings got it a few times. Not fun, but not the end of the world.”  
  
“But what causes it?” Allura asks, bewildered. “It sounds terrible.”  
  
“It’s just swollen or inflamed vocal cords,” Hunk volunteers. “It just happens sometimes when they get irritated. Sometimes it’s due to getting sick, but it can also happen if you just bust some capillaries straining your throat too much.”  
  
“Like with yelling,” Lance adds helpfully. “Which happened a lot yesterday, sooo…”  
  
It’s really not fair, Shiro thinks to himself. _He_ might have been yelling orders and coordinating battles, but _they’d_ all been yelling, too. And yet none of _them_ have lost their voices. He’s starting to wonder if the universe is just out to get him.  
  
“Human physiology is so strange!” Coran observes, although he also looks concerned. “It must be terrible to have such delicate bodies they can be damaged by a little noise. Do you require a cryo-pod? I bet it’ll heal up those damaged human vocal cords in no time.”  
  
Shiro makes a face at the thought, and shakes his head. He dislikes using the cryo-pods unless he absolutely has to. They’re just too much hassle for him, with the extra frostbite treatment he always needs after, not to mention the claustrophobic, trapped feelings it always gives him. He doesn’t want to use one for something as silly as a sore throat and lost voice. “That’s really not necessary,” he says, and winces at the croaking, warped way his voice sounds, and the way it pulls at his throat.  
  
“Shiro, you _really_ need stop talking,” Keith says, scowling a little. “You’re just gonna make it worse if you keep trying to say things.”  
  
“It should clear up in a couple days anyway,” Pidge tells the Alteans. “It’s kind of miserable and obnoxious, but like Lance said, it’s not the end of the world and it’s pretty straightforward to treat. As long as he _doesn’t_ keep straining his voice trying to talk, and takes it easy.” She gives Shiro a warning look, one that’s replicated by nearly everyone else at the table.  
  
Enforced silence. Wonderful.  
  
“Well, either way, I guess there’s no training today!” Lance says brightly. He’s looking distinctly more awake, and has a smug, pleased grin on his face as he stares up the table at everyone else over his mug. “After all, our fearless leader can’t give us any orders.”  
  
Shiro frowns. “Whether or not I can talk has no effect on our training schedule,” he tries. Only maybe half of the words get out, croaking and strained. He sounds like a garbled mess. He pushes on gamely anyway. “We can still—“  
  
_“What?”_ Lance interrupts loudly, still grinning, as he puts one hand to his ear. “What’s that? I didn’t quite make that out—was that ‘relax and take it easy’? Well, that sounds like a pretty tall order,” he sighs dramatically, with a look of mock disappointment, “but I _guess_ we can. Since you ordered. We’ll do it for you.”  
  
Shiro scowls at him. He finds himself dropping into the disciplinary lecture mode he uses the most often with the blue paladin out of habit, raising his voice to say warningly, _“Lance—“_  
  
Except raising his voice is a terrible, _terrible_ idea, because his throat isn’t a big fan of pitch changes at the moment. He feels his vocal cords strain as the _attempt_ to sound commanding and lecturing comes out at an embarrassingly awkward warbling noise, before cracking halfway through.  
  
He freezes, and can can feel his face reddening slightly against his will. Damn it. His voice hasn’t cracked like that since _puberty._  
  
There’s a very, _very_ long moment of silence as everyone stares at him again. The Alteans are both wide-eyed and confused, but the rest of them are clearly trying to hold back snickers of amusement, to judge by their carefully blank expressions. All except Lance, anyway, whose expression has evolved from ‘smug’ to ‘shit-eating grin.’ At least he’s more awake. Shiro finds himself pressing his left hand to his forehead and slowly dragging it down his face almost without thinking, exasperated and already thoroughly done with today.  
  
Yeah. Pretty sure he’s never going to live this one down.  
  
After a very long silence, Allura finally breaks it. “This does not sound pleasant at all,” she says carefully. “Perhaps it would be best if Shiro is not permitted to train while he is unwell. Full team training will also be suspended as a result.”  
  
Lance makes an enthusiastic whoop of victory.  
  
“Individual training will not. I will supervise combat practice until Shiro is well again.”  
  
Lance’s victory noise changes to an alarmed whine, and he looks distressed. The rest of the paladins look equally uncomfortable, even Keith, who normally tends to willingly engage in extra training sessions in his free time. Pidge and Hunk both give Shiro pleading looks.  
  
Shiro keeps his face carefully blank.  
  
“Okay, well, we should probably get Shiro feeling better again as soon as possible then,” Hunk says after a moment. He actually does sound sincere, although Shiro suspects there is still an underlying motive of _oh god please don’t let Allura be in charge of training for too long_. “I’ve got a great remedy that my mom always used whenever anyone in our family got a sore throat. Camomile tea with lemon. Always does the trick. Your throat should be feeling better in no time!”  
  
“You can’t do it with lemon,” Lance argues. “It’s supposed to be with honey! Camomile tea with honey is the remedy in our house. Guaranteed to have you feeling better in a day. And it tastes better than lemon too.”  
  
“Guys, that’s stupid,” Pidge says. “Lemon _and_ tea are both acidic. That’s bad for your throat when it’s sore.”  
  
“Not if it’s bacterial!” Hunk argues. “Then it helps kill all the bad stuff.”  
  
“We don’t know if it is or isn’t,” Pidge shoots back. “And if he’s just got an irritated throat because he’s yelling, anything acidic is gonna make it worse. Just a spoonful of honey is the best. It’s got the Holt guarantee. You wouldn’t disagree with anything my dad guarantees, would you, Shiro?”  
  
Shiro blinks when he’s addressed. He has the uncomfortable feeling he’s getting drawn into an argument he really doesn’t want to be a part of, and instinctively knows he probably shouldn’t agree with any one person. “Uh—“  
  
“Oh come on! Tea and lemon is _way_ better!”   
  
“Camomile and honey! It’s sweet _and_ it’s good for you!”  
  
_“Guys,”_ Keith interrupts, raising his voice. For one truly strange moment Shiro actually thinks Keith’s going to interject with his own remedy, but instead the red paladin just gives them all annoyed looks. “Look, why are you even arguing about any of this? No matter which one’s right, who cares? We don’t have any of that stuff _anyway_ out in space.”  
  
Shiro lets out a sigh of relief as the rest of the paladins look like they’re about to argue, and then deflate with bemused looks on their faces. He’s secretly thankful that Keith spoke up, otherwise he’s sure would have ended up drowning in throat care remedies, all while trying to _not_ insult any one person’s family cures. And he’s definitely just too miserable to deal with _that_ right now.  
  
“But there must be something else we can do to assist, even if we don’t have these teas, or this ‘honey’?” Allura asks, still looking concerned.  
  
“Well, sure,” Lance says. “For starters Shiro’s _really_ just gotta not talk, just like we’ve been saying. For a day or two, until his vocal cords get a chance to rest up and heal a little.”  
  
“And if he does have to talk at all, it should be in a lower, calm voice,” Pidge adds. “Whispering actually strains your throat more, which is bad.”  
  
“Drinking lots of water too,” Hunk says. “It keeps you hydrated, and it helps soothe your throat, especially when it’s irritated.” Keith adds nothing, but does give Shiro’s water glass a pointed look.  
  
“Very well,” Allura says. “Shiro, you are hereby ordered to take the rest of the day off in order to recover. Obey the paladin’s care instructions, and unless it is an absolute emergency, you are forbidden from speaking until your illness has passed.”  
  
Shiro frowns at that, and opens his mouth to protest. Almost as one, all of them yell, _“Shiro!”_   Even the mice currently picking through Lance’s bowl look up long enough to squeak warningly. Shiro blinks once, and snaps his mouth shut. It takes all of his considerable black paladin control to not look petulant.  
  
Today is definitely going to be a _long_ day.  
  


* * *

  
  
Half an hour later, once Shiro is finished with breakfast, he’s not quite sure what to do with himself. Free time isn’t exactly something they have a lot of these days, so most of the time they’re on missions, or training to get stronger for the next mission. If there are any extraneous activities, they’re usually organized by one of the other paladins, such as movie or game nights. So he ends up just…meandering, without any real destination or plan in mind.    
“There you are!”  
  
Until Keith finds him, anyway.  
  
“What are you—“ Shiro begins, and then stops with a wince at the hoarse, raspy sound of his voice. No talking. Right. That was going to be hard to remember.  
  
Keith purses his lips when Shiro talks, but seems to approve when he stops. “My individual training’s not for another hour,” Keith says with a shrug. “Allura’s working with Coran to set up some training routines first.”  
  
Shiro cocks his head to the left, fights the very strong urge to ask his question, and points at Keith instead.  
  
“I came looking for you specifically,” Keith says, apparently understanding the _but why are you here_ for what it actually was. “Here. Hunk said you’re supposed to keep drinking water, but you didn’t take any with you when you left.” He holds out one of the water pouches Coran gives them during intense combat training sessions.  
  
Shiro takes it with bemusement, never quite used to the way the water pouch makes him feel like he’s breaking into a kid’s lunch pack, but grateful  for the thought all the same. “Thanks,” he croaks, careful to keep his voice low and even like Pidge had suggested.  
  
“Don’t talk,” Keith scowls. “Just drink the damn water.” He folds his arms across his chest, and watches almost impatiently until Shiro sticks the straw into the pouch and takes his first few sips. Hunk wasn’t wrong—the water _does_ feel cool and comfortable on his sore throat.  
  
Keith waits until he goes through half the pouch before he appears satisfied. “I should probably go get ready for training,” he says. “I’m probably the only one who’s going to survive it anyway.”  
  
Shiro thinks that this is maybe being a little overdramatic—Allura isn’t _that_ bad. Except she does have some… _enthusiastic_ ways of encouraging progress that are what some might consider ‘lethal,’ so…maybe less overdramatic than expected.  
  
“And I’m not an expert on sore throats or illness or anything,” Keith adds, giving Shiro a flat look, “But I’m pretty sure when everyone else told you to take it easy, they didn’t mean ‘wander around in the castle.’ They were probably thinking more along the lines of ‘take a nap’ or ‘read a book’ or something.”  
  
Shiro shrugs, as if to say, _what can you do?_ Taking a nap doesn’t sound particularly appealing at the moment. He’s awake, which means he’s up for the day. He doubts he’ll be falling asleep any time soon, and anyway, it’s not like he’s really sick and needs the rest. It’s just a sore throat. He’ll live.  
  
Keith rolls his eyes, but doesn’t press further. “Just remember, the others are gonna want to check up on you at some point. And if they catch you wandering around…” He shrugs.  
  
Okay. Well. That’s a fair point. Keith takes off down the hallway again for his terrifying new combat session, and Shiro considers as he drinks the rest of his water pouch. By the time it’s empty, he decides to head back to his room instead. If the others are going to insist on tracking him down, he can at least give them as little to freak out over as possible. And less freaking out means less rules and restrictions, and maybe he can get back into his daily groove faster if he gets a few points for good behavior.  
  
He can hope, anyway.  
  


* * *

  
  
_“What_ do you think you’re _doing?”_  
  
Shiro startles at the sound of Lance’s voice, and ends up falling flat on his face in the middle of his latest pushup. He grumbles as he sits up on the floor, rubbing his nose and giving the blue paladin standing in his doorway a dirty look. He’d raise his voice too, but, well, that hadn’t gone so well the last time he’d tried it.  
  
Unfortunately, Lance is all but immune to the look at this point. He shakes his head in disgust over the pile of things in his arms, and looks deeply disappointed. “I don’t get it,” he says, sighing dramatically. “You get _ordered_ to take a day off, and you spend your time doing pushups? This is a tragedy. Shiro doesn’t know how to just _relax._ Truly heartbreaking.”  
  
Shiro’s eyebrows go up at the over-exaggerations. He’s not _that_ bad. He’s just the kind of person that can’t sit around doing nothing. It’s not even something he’s picked up recently; he’s always been this way, even before Kerberos. He _had_ tried to take it easy when returning to his room, relatively speaking, but just like he’d told Keith, a nap had no appeal to him and he doesn’t have much else to do. So he’d fallen back to some basic fitness exercises—stretches and crunches, and now the pushups. He’d been thinking about moving into a little bit of yoga too afterwards, but he has a feeling Lance will be putting a halt to that.  
  
He’s right, of course.  
  
“It is relaxing to me—“ he begins, or tries to, anyway. His voice is still warped, and speaking is painful, even speaking in the lower register Pidge suggested. He winces.  
  
_“What?”_ Lance asks, loud and over the top, just like last time. He cocks an ear like he’s trying to listen. “What’s that? You want me to show you how to properly take a day off and just relax? Well, sure, Shiro, since you asked! It’s a good thing I brought all these supplies with me.” He turns and carefully places the stack of items in his arms on the desk.  
  
Shiro frowns. “I really don’t—“  
  
_“What?_ What’s that? You want to sit on the bed, where it’ll be more comfortable? Hey, great idea! All this stuff will be more comfortable there anyway.”  
  
Shiro scowls. “Lance—“  
  
Lance grins at him as he interrupts again. “ _What?_ You think you should stop talking? Hey, good idea. Better for your throat.”  
  
Shiro glares, and opens his mouth to respond. Lance holds up a hand before he can in a ‘stop’ motion. “Look, Shiro, do you know how many siblings I have? I can literally do this _all day._ I have practice. I will outlast you. Don’t fight me on this.”  
  
Shiro sighs. But he has heard Lance talk at length about his large family (immediate and extended), and he has certainly mastered the art of both dealing with obnoxious siblings, and being one. This isn’t a battle he will win. He grudgingly relents, relocating to sitting on the edge of the bed, and waits for whatever Lance had _actually_ shown up for.  
  
“Great!” Lance says, nodding in approval. “So, I _figured_ something like this would happen, so I brought some entertainment to keep you busy.” He digs through the stack, and hands over several small digital consoles that generate holograms. “Coran showed me these a while back, they’re like games. This one’s kinda like a jigsaw puzzle, and this one’s kinda like alien tetris, I think, and I think this one’s some kind of war game or chess or something? You can make troops and try to beat challenges it sets, anyway. Seems like something up your alley. You can call it brain training since  you can’t do the combat training?” He shrugs, and pokes at the holographic puzzle to demonstrate, sliding the pieces around. “Anyway, it might keep you busy.”  
  
Shiro places the little consoles next to himself on the bed as Lance heads for the other objects. “Holopad,” Lance says next, holding up the object. “I had Pidge preload it with some movies and music. We tried to pick the ones you liked.” He taps the pad, and a separate application pops up, which he types a few letters into. “Comes with a word processor that comprehends English too, thanks to Pidge and Hunk. So if you gotta communicate, you can actually write stuff for us instead of trying to talk. Because you’re not supposed to do that.” He gives Shiro a pointed look.  
  
Shiro holds his hands up in mock surrender at the look, and accepts the pad, poking few some of the preloaded movies. Maybe he can kill a few hours with this. He sets the holopad aside, and glances at the final item on the dresser, which appears to be a cup of some kind. He turns back to Lance and nods at the item, as if to ask, _what’s that?_  
  
_“That_ is not entertainment, but it might still help,” Lance says. “I really couldn’t find anything just like camomile tea. Or honey.” He sounds deeply disappointed by this, but then brightens. “But I did find salt, and we’ve got plenty of water.”  
  
Shiro feels a sense of dread. Lance isn’t going to try to get him to drink _saltwater,_ is he? Because he’ll fight back on that. Shiro knows he’s supposed to take their advice on this, but he’s got limits.  
  
But as Lance hands over the cup, he says, “This is another family remedy of ours. _Don’t_ drink it though. Just gargle it for thirty seconds and spit it out. Sounds crazy, but it totally works.”  
  
Shiro has his doubts. The cup is pleasantly warm, though, and he’s got no better ideas. And he can see this is clearly important to Lance, and that in some weird way it lets him connect to _home_ just a little better. So he does as bid, heading to the small attached half-bathroom at the back of his quarters to spit the saltwater out in the sink. It tastes terrible, but his throat actually does feel marginally better once finished.  
  
“Better?” Lance asks brightly, when he takes the cup back. Shiro nods, and Lance grins. “Hah! Mama McClain is never wrong. Do it a couple more times a day and you’ll feel way better by tomorrow. Guaranteed.”  
  
There’s a wistfulness to the way Lance says it, and Shiro can tell instantly he’s thinking back to his family, and his thoughts are at least half back on Earth. But he also sounds pleased, and Shiro can’t help but smile at Lance’s enthusiasm. _Thanks,_ he types out on the holopad.  
  
“No problem! Anything for the boss.”  
  
_You’re not just trying to avoid more combat lessons with Allura, then?_ Shiro taps out, chuckling a little.  
  
Lance blanches at that, and stammers, “Wh-what? No way. That’d just be…we’re just worried about you—“ He pauses, and then mutters, “Okay look, we _are_ worried, but she’s also _really scary_ in training, Shiro, like seriously you can’t leave us alone with her forever—“  
  
Shiro snorts—through his nose, thankfully, which hurts a little less—and types out on the holopad, _I’ll do my best to get better as fast as possible for everyone else’s sake then._  
  
“That’s the spirit! You’re a great leader, Shiro. The best. Don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise.”  
  
Shiro shakes his head in exasperation, but his smile is fond as he watches Lance head out the door.  
  


* * *

  
  
An hour into one of the movies, there’s a knock on his door. Shiro can’t exactly call for them to come in at the moment, which is why he’s left the door partly open, and Keith lets himself in.  
  
“Well, at least you’re actually taking it easy, now,” Keith comments, glancing around the room. Shiro’s propped up on one end of his bed with the holopad in his lap, and has since changed out of his paladin armor into his everyday clothes.  
  
Shiro shrugs. He’d still prefer to be doing something more productive, but if everyone’s going to be watching him like a hawk to make sure he doesn’t strain himself, he doesn’t have much choice in the matter. Plus, getting better sort of has more purpose to it when he’s essentially doing it to rescue the rest of his paladins. Even if it’s rescuing them from Allura.  
  
“We’ve only got a small break in between combat sessions,” Keith says. “I figured I’d stop by with this, though.” He holds out another pouch of water. “Doesn’t sound like you’ve left the room, so I figure you haven’t gotten more yet.”  
  
Shiro hasn’t. Truth be told, he’d sort of forgotten about the drinking thing. The movie had distracted him from how sore his throat feels every time he swallows, but now that he thinks about it, water actually sounds heavenly.  
  
_Thanks,_ he types out on the holopad.  
  
Keith shrugs. “No problem.” He hands off the pouch to Shiro. “Feeling any better?”  
  
_A little,_ Shiro types, which isn’t exactly true. He _had_ felt better earlier, but the saltwater trick is starting to wear off, and his throat still feels sore and irritated. He hasn’t tried talking since Lance gave him the holopad, but he suspects his voice isn’t any better, either.  
  
“Well, just keep taking it easy,” Keith says. “I think everyone already misses you in training a lot. Allura is…uh. She gets really into it.”  
  
Shiro raises an eyebrow at that.  
  
“She decided two person team exercises were on the agenda today, and I’m not sure how it happened, but somehow she ended up throwing Lance at Hunk,” Keith clarifies. “They’re both fine, but…well. Yeah.”  
  
_She does like throwing things,_ Shiro agrees. _It’s a common tactic for her._ He still remembers getting flung at least thirty feet into an escape pod that one time. And, well. She does get enthusiastic when it comes to the Mission.  
  
“Yeah. Anyway. Just focus on getting better. Somebody’ll probably check in again later.” Keith leaves, and Shiro returns to his movie, now with complementary water pouch. The water really _does_ feel good on his throat, and he relaxes a little further.  
  


* * *

  
  
Hunk shows up around lunchtime with a laden tray, a box under one arm, and a big smile on his face. Shiro’s been fooling around with the tactics holo-game for the past half an hour, trying to figure out how to push his tactical combat skills even further so he can at least be of more use to the team when they’re in another fight. But he obligingly puts the game away when Hunk taps on the door and lets himself in, glancing over curiously.  
  
“Hey, Shiro! I figure you could use something to eat,” Hunk says brightly, as he settles the tray and the box down on the desk. “I noticed you didn’t eat too much at breakfast today. I figured your throat must’ve really been making it difficult, right?”  
  
Sort of, yes. The food goo had been better on his throat than other textures, but swallowing was still painful, and Shiro had wanted to do as little of it as possible. Even if it meant sacrificing actually _eating_ anything. He hesitates a moment, then nods.  
  
“Yeah, I figured,” Hunk says sympathetically. “Eating’s a literal pain with a sore throat. So I tried to make some stuff that’d be a little easier to eat or drink.” He looks a little disappointed. “I tore the whole kitchen and all our stores apart though and I couldn’t find anything similar to camomile tea, or lemon, so I can’t give you my mom’s amazing sore throat remedy.”  
  
Shiro wonders if he and Lance had looked at the same time. Probably not. It sounds like they were both hoping to sneak their favored remedy in without telling the others. Shiro decides to not open that particular can of worms by mentioning it.  
  
“ _But_ I did put together some other stuff that shouldn’t feel as bad on your throat,” Hunk says, looking a little brighter. “Nothing spicy or dry. This stuff here is kind of like oatmeal when you cook it, and these fruits are pretty soft. This stuff’s kinda like yogurt, but it tastes like vanilla, it’s actually really good. So…I guess this is kinda like breakfast for lunch? Hope that’s okay.”  
  
_It’s fine,_ Shiro types out. He’s less on board with the idea of eating—his throat still hurts and leaves him repulsed at the idea of swallowing more than usual. But Hunk’s brilliant when it comes to food, so he’ll trust him on that.  
  
Lunch is actually really good. Hunk keeps him company while Shiro eats, keeping up a steady stream of one-way conversation, and always phrasing questions in yes or no formats so Shiro can respond easily without having to reach for the holopad or—ugh—attempt speaking. And the food is, unsurprisingly, delicious. The fruit and oatmeal are relatively easy to swallow, and the yogurt is pleasantly cool, which feels good when he swallows. Hunk gives him small portions, so Shiro is able to finish it all off, and feels full enough to be satisfied without having strained his throat too much. It’s still sore, but at least he doesn’t feel like he’s aggravated it further just trying to eat.  
  
“I’ve got one more trick,” Hunk says brightly, once he notices Shiro is finished. “It’s another of my mom’s remedies, since we can’t do the tea.”  
  
Shiro is starting to wonder how many home remedies there are out there. Certainly far more than he had ever guessed a sore throat could have.  
  
Hunk doesn’t seem to noticed Shiro’s bemused face, however, since he’s currently reaching for the box he’d left on the desk when he first entered. Shiro had completely forgotten about it, but finds himself curious now as Hunk opens it up and extracts…Shiro’s eyes widen.  
  
“I made popsicles!” Hunk says, grinning as he spots Shiro’s reaction. “These ones are made out of some of the juice from that fruit we found three planets back. The one that kinda tastes like strawberries. You seemed to like those, so I figured this would be a safe bet.”  
  
He hands the frozen treat over to Shiro, looking pleased with himself. The homemade popsicle is a deep blue color and a perfect rectangle, probably since Hunk would have had to use whatever he could find for a mold. But it tastes delicious, and more importantly it’s ice cold. The chilled juice seems to numb his throat almost immediately, and it feels absolutely _wonderful._  
  
Hunk seems to realize his remedy is a success. “My mom would make these every time any of us got a sore throat,” he says, sounding both pleased and a little far away. Shiro can tell instantly his thoughts are miles from the Castle, if only for a few seconds. “It always makes my throat feel a little better. I figured it’d work for you too. It’s helping, right?”  
  
Shiro nods. He doesn’t have any words even if he could speak.  
  
“There’s a couple more in the cooler there,” Hunk says, placing the box on the temporary nightstand next to Shiro’s bed, alongside all the entertainment Lance had provided earlier. “I can make some more tonight if you still want some, but I only had enough time to make a small mold for them.”  
  
_This is fine for now,_ Shiro manages to type one handed on the holopad. _More than I was expecting, really. Thanks, Hunk._  
  
“No problem, Shiro. You just work on getting better, okay?”  
  
_I’ll do my best. So we can go back to regular training as soon as possible._  
  
“Oh, thank goodness,” Hunk says, looking relieved. “I love Allura, she’s great, but…well, you’re just way, way better at the whole training thing.”  
  
Shiro chuckles a little when Hunk leaves. He’s definitely going to file that one away for future reference. Seems like it’ll come in handy one day.

* * *

  
  
Keith shows up maybe half an hour after Hunk leaves, with another pouch of water. It’s starting to get a little weird, now. Shiro knows Keith has almost as much experience as he does when it comes to getting sick (and sore throats in particular), which is to say, basically none. But it seems like he’s taking Hunk’s suggestion about the water a _little_ too strongly.  
  
“You need to stay hydrated,” Keith insists. “That’s what the others said. And the water is good for your throat.”  
  
_That’s true, but I’m already staying hydrated with these,_ Shiro tries to explain on the holopad, gesturing with the second popsicle, which is still numbing his throat beautifully. _Which are also good for my throat._  
  
“But they said you need water, too,” Keith says.  
  
Shiro sighs. Keith’s _trying._ That’s got to count for something. And typing out full arguments with one hand is just too much of a hassle right now.  
  
_Just leave it here on the table,_ he types instead. _I’ll get to it when I’m finished with this._  
  
Keith leaves the water pouch, looking mollified. Shiro hopes he starts feeling better before this goes on too much longer.

* * *

  
  
Pidge shows up several hours later, holding something boxy and heavy looking in her hands as she kicks at the partly open sliding door. Shiro rolls out of bed and hastily heads over to slide the door open fully, so she can enter without breaking anything…like the object in her hand, or more likely, his door.  
  
“Thanks,” she says. “This thing’s heavier than I thought it would be. How’re you feeling?”  
  
Lousy, really, if Shiro’s honest with himself. He’s burned through all four of the popsicles Hunk had made him—they’d felt so heavenly on his throat, cooling and numbing. But now he’s regretting not having rationed them out a little better. The cooling sensation’s gone, and he’s gone back to that painful soreness every time he swallows. He’s even gone through the entire new water pouch Keith provided, but it doesn’t help for more than a few minutes. The movies and games had been distracting for a time, but he catches himself feeling miserable more and more often whenever he swallows, and it breaks his concentration.  
  
Sore throats are just not _fair._ He’s not sick enough to even want to feel like sleeping or like he should be taking any kind of time off, but he _is_ just sick enough to feel miserable. It’s a terrible combination.  
  
But he can’t really go into detail, especially when he’s still forbidden from speaking, and Pidge is watching him warily. So he just shrugs, as if to say, _eh, what can you do._  
  
“Yeah, I figured,” Pidge says. “But I think this will help, at least a little.” She gestures to the boxy contraption that’s now on Shiro’s desk, and pats it fondly.  
  
Shiro glances at it, and then back to her, as if to ask, _Well? What is it?_  
  
“I made you a humidifier,” Pidge explains. “Sometimes a sore throat gets worse when your vocal cords are all dried out and get irritated. Or, if it’s part of a cold or something, you get fluid buildup. Either way, moisture and steam can help make it feel a little better.”  
  
She shrugs. “Or at least…it always worked any time Matt had a sore throat. He used to get them a lot when we were younger. He swears by honey as the number one remedy, but I think that’s just because he’s got a sweet tooth, and anyway I couldn’t find anything like that out here.” She scowls. “A thousand other races and none of them have discovered the magic of nectar and insect spit, apparently.”  
  
Frankly, that sounds revolting when put that way, but Shiro’s not about to argue it when Pidge is clearly missing her family. Or bring up the fact that Lance had already hunted for space-honey earlier.  
  
“So, the humidifier. Matt pretty much always had one when he was sick and he swears by it. I figured we might as well give it a shot. It can’t make things worse, right?”  
  
_Can’t hurt,_ Shiro agrees, after retrieving the holopad from the bed. _I appreciate the help, really. I’m willing to try anything that works at this point._  
  
“Great. Let’s get it set up then.” Pidge removes the water reservoir and fills it in the bathroom sink with practiced ease, settles it back into the machine, and flips the switch to turn it on. For a few moments nothing at all happens, but then a faint shimmer of mist starts to appear out of one end of the boxy contraption, puffing quietly into the air. When Shiro runs his left hand through it gently, it’s pleasantly cool to the touch and faintly soft against his skin.  
  
“It might take a little bit to set in,” Pidge says, “but it might help in the long run. Just keep it on while you’re doing other stuff, or when you’re sleeping, and it’ll take care of some of that soreness in the background. Although if you want more immediate results, you can try a hot shower or some hot water in a bowl, and breathe in the steam.”  
  
_Thanks, Pidge. I’ll keep it in mind, and I’ll keep this running. Maybe it’ll help cut down on how long this sore throat lasts._  
  
“Here’s hoping.” She makes a face. “I’m not sure any of us are going to survive more than a couple days of training with Allura. She’s…she’s intense. And doesn’t seem to believe in breaks. Like. _Wow_. So just get better, Shiro, ‘cause we really need you back.”  
  
He chuckles, wincing only slightly at how much that actually hurts, and ruffles her head affectionately. He doesn’t need the holopad to convey the _I’ll do my best,_ and she leaves looking satisfied that she’d managed to contribute at all.  
  
Shiro breathes in the vapors from the humidifier deeply once she’s out the door. It really does feel nice on his throat—pleasantly cool, if not chilling like the icy juice had been. Hopefully it’ll work some kind of miracle in the background.  
  
He can hope, at least.  
  


* * *

  
  
Keith brings him more water.  
  
Shiro understands the importance of water, but man, is he ever starting to get sick of it.  
  
_Keith, it’s fine, really,_ he tries typing out on the holopad. _I really don’t need this much water. I’m plenty hydrated, I promise._  
  
“Hunk said you need to drink lots of it,” Keith says, insistent, but he also sounds a little confused. Hesitant. “It’s supposed to be good on your throat, too.”  
  
_I know, but I’ve also been doing lots of other stuff to take care of it too,_ Shiro types out. _Everyone’s been having me try out their remedies. It’s helping a little, I think._ His throat is still sore, but not _as_ painful as it had been earlier. He thinks the humidifier is starting to kick in, and he’s tried Lance’s saltwater trick again. It’s helping, a little.  
  
“Oh.” Keith stares at the water pouch in his hand for a moment, looking a little lost. “Okay. Sorry. I don’t have any other tricks or anything to offer. I guess this isn’t helping.”  
  
Aw, _hell._ Really, Shiro should have anticipated something like this. He’s been so careful with everyone else’s family remedies and so careful of their wistful memories, not wanting to disrespect those things when everyone is so far from home and it clearly means so much to them. But he should have anticipated Keith would have the opposite problem—he _doesn’t_ have those things, but he feels inadequate when he can’t contribute in some way. He’s probably trying to just _not_ feel useless by latching on to the one thing he _can_ contribute.  
  
He sighs. “Keith—“  
  
Keith immediately scowls at him. “You’re not supposed to talk.”  
  
Shiro frowns, but types out on the holopad instead, _It’s fine. Leave the water, I’ll drink it in a little bit. Thanks for helping me out._  
  
Keith doesn’t make it obvious, but he does seem to brighten up a little when he places the water pouch on the nightstand next to all the entertainment items. That’s enough to tell Shiro he made the right call.  
  
Though he’ll probably regret it later when he gets water poisoning.  
  


* * *

  
  
Allura shows up in the evening, presumably after training has concluded. At least, Shiro’s reasonably sure training is over, since she’s wearing her fancy dress, and her hair is down. He doesn’t doubt for a second that she could offer a serious fight even dressed in her more royal attire, and probably still win it. But she does tend to dress practically when it comes to combat at least.  
  
She arrives with a small floating tray trailing after her, and the mice balancing on her shoulders. She knocks politely on the door before entering, and Shiro puts aside the combat holo-game again to give her his attention.  
  
“Ah—you’ve discovered the tactics scenarios, I see,” Allura comments, as he turns the game off. She looks fond. “I remember playing that for hours with the paladins of old. The wargames could be very difficult, but each paladin always found a different way to win them. It was interesting to see so many different solutions.”  
  
She sounds longing, thinking back ten thousand years to a different time with different paladins than the ones she knows now. Shiro tries to imagine their predecessors playing these games with a much tinier Allura, training and having fun at the same time, but it’s difficult to imagine. Especially with _his_ predecessor.  
  
But that’s more of a bitter train of thought than he really wants to follow at the moment, so instead he pulls up the holopad and types, _It’s interesting enough. Did you need me for something?_  
  
Allura merely stares at the holopad, which is the moment Shiro realizes she probably can’t read English. He knows there’s some kind of universal translator in effect that allows them all to understand each other while speaking. But it obviously doesn’t apply to written word at all, or they’d have a much easier time translating anything from Galran. Well, crap.  
  
Fortunately, Allura seems to understand the mood enough, because she moves on to a new topic herself. “I apologize if I’m disturbing you,” she says, “but I thought I might stop by and look in on your recovery. And also, perhaps, offer something to assist.”  
  
Shiro feels marginally better, if he’s honest. Slightly less sore, and swallowing is slightly less painful. The combination of everybody’s remedies must be doing _something_ positive. But when he tries to answer, his voice is still croaking and warped, and he can feel the strain on his throat. “I’m doing better. Thanks for taking care of things today.” _Even if every single paladin has been begging me to get better as soon as possible so you aren’t taking care of things again._  
  
Allura frowns. “That still doesn’t sound very good,” she observes. “You still don’t sound like yourself. Perhaps this might help?”  
  
She waves her hand, and the floating tray that had been following her slides forward through the air. There’s a small jar, a steaming cup, and a spoon on it. Allura carefully removes the lid of the jar and sprinkles some reddish powder into the cup. Two of the mice crawl down her arms and onto the tray, standing one on top of the other to stir with the spoon as Allura works. A faint aroma starts to rise from the steaming cup—it smells sweet and tingles at Shiro’s nose just faintly.  
  
“This is juniberry tea,” Allura explains. “I…admit that I am not familiar with some of the other things the rest of the paladins were talking about. This…’camomile’ or ‘honey’ or ‘lemon,’ that is. But it sounded as though teas were a fairly universally accepted cure-all. I thought it might be beneficial to offer you this.”  
  
Shiro blinks in surprise.  
  
“And this particular blend is of a special quality,” Allura says, with another wistful smile. Her voice sounds a little far away, like she’s remembering. “It’s from the last harvest from the royal fields of the palace. I remember the day the most well known tea merchant in the city presented this to my father as a gift for the royal family. It is exceptional quality.”  
  
Shiro stares at her, stunned. After a moment he croaks, “Allura, I can’t take that! There can’t be much left, and it’s one of the only things you have left that belongs to your family.”  
  
The wistful look vanishes, and Allura looks a little more determined. “You are right. It belongs to my family. Which you and your paladins are now a part of.”  
  
Shiro blinks again, somehow caught unawares by the declaration.  
  
Allura smiles. “This is my family now. That includes you, naturally. Please accept this gift, and do your best to get better. I did check with Coran after this morning’s discussion—it should not be acidic, so I do not believe it will irritate your throat any.”  
  
And, well. When she presents it like _that,_ he can hardly refuse. He accepts the cup when the tray floats over to him, and takes a sip. It’s pleasantly warm, sweet without being overpowering, and feels incredibly soothing on his throat. But it also leaves behind an interesting aftertaste, vaguely reminiscent of mint or something similar, which leaves his throat feeling cool and surprisingly comfortable.  
  
“This is delicious,” he tells her truthfully. His voice doesn’t even sound as bad as it had a few seconds ago, although he can still feel the strain of it on his throat a little.  
  
She smiles, looking pleased with herself as he takes another sip. “I am glad you enjoy it,” she says. “I hope it will be of assistance with your illness. I must admit, it will be a relief when you can retake your training duties.” She sighs, and actually looks tired. “I really don’t know how you work so well with the rest of the paladins in training, Shiro. Today was exhausting.”  
  
Shiro nearly chokes on his tea.  
  
“I realize that perhaps it is a quality you have a particular skill for,” Allura admits. “You _are_ the black paladin, after all. The Black Lion chooses individuals who are particularly gifted at leading and whose men trust them. But even so, they simply do not respond as well to me as they do you. You’re able to command them so well.” She sighs again. “I’m not sure I can handle supervising their training for much longer. They really are a handful.”  
  
It takes all of his considerable willpower to keep his incredulous expression off his face. This is _really_ happening. He almost expected the paladins to beg for a rescue from Allura, but Allura begging (in a diplomatic, reserved way) for rescue from the rest of the paladins?  
  
Apparently, Shiro is just absolutely necessary as the bridge between the two. It would be gratifying to know he has this much trust from nearly everyone on the ship, if he wasn’t learning about it in perhaps the weirdest way possible.  
  
“I’ll do my best to get better as soon as possible,” Shiro croaks after a moment.  
  
“Very good. But please do not speak further,” Allura says, chastising. “If you damage your voice further, it will be even longer before you can give commands again.”  
  
Shiro blinks, shrugs, and takes another sip of tea.  
  
Allura keeps him company until he finishes the drink, telling him about their training from the day. He’s picked up on some of it from the rambling of the other paladins when they visit, but it sounds like it was just as much of a disaster from her end. Shiro vows to do his level best to get better, because he’s pretty sure nobody is going to last a week if this keeps going on without his intervention. _Wow._  
  
When he finishes, he hands the cup back over, and Allura takes it and the precious jar of juniberry tea. “Rest well, Shiro,” she says with a smile as she departs.  
  
Shiro watches her go, and muses over the way his family has expanded since Kerberos, and now includes the royal family of an entire planet. He wishes he could have met more of them, honestly, but he’s definitely okay with the family he has currently. They’re not so bad at all. If a little crazy, sometimes.  
  


* * *

  
Shiro has survived a six month trip to Kerberos, a year of imprisonment with the Galra, an untold number of Gladiator matches, dozens of Voltron battles, and engagements with both Zarkon and Haggar, but he is absolutely positive that Keith is going to kill him by drowning.  
  
He takes the latest pouch of water anyway, because of course he does. How could he not?  
  
But if he never sees another pouch of water again it’ll be too damn soon.  
  


* * *

  
  
It’s pretty late at night, at least as far as Castle Time is concerned, when Coran shows up.  
  
Honestly, Shiro’s not at all surprised to see him up at the equivalent of midnight on the ship. Everyone gets on _Shiro’s_ case about not getting enough sleep, but honestly, he’s not sure Coran _does_ sleep. He’s always the last to go to bed and he’s always up before anybody else, caring for the castle and organizing things for the day. And sometimes Shiro will find him working on repairing or cleaning things at two or three in the morning when he goes wandering after a particularly bad dream wakes him. Sometimes Shiro even helps him with the work, just to get his mind of the dreams, and Coran always accepts his help without questioning.  
  
The point being, Shiro is at least partly convinced that Coran might be some kind of cyborg. Either that, or Coran has somehow discovered the ability to survive on maybe an hour of sleep a night, with seemingly no consequences. The jury is still out on that one. Not enough conclusive data.  
  
But Shiro isn’t really caught unawares when there’s a knock on his door late at night, and he’s not surprised to see Coran standing in the doorway, looking as prim and proper as ever. “Evening, Shiro!” the Altean says cheerfully. “I noticed your light was still on, and thought I’d stop by to see how you’re doing. Feeling any better?”  
  
Shiro gives him a miserable look, which probably answers the question.  
  
He is feeling better in a way. Everyone’s remedies have helped a lot (even the ridiculous amount of water). His throat doesn’t hurt as much as it did, and when he attempts speaking his voice is marginally less hoarse and warped than before. Unfortunately ‘slightly better’ does not mean ‘cured.’ Also unfortunately, Shiro hadn’t taken into account how much the games and movies had distracted him from how his throat feels. He’s been trying to fall asleep for the past hour or so, but with nothing to focus his attention on, swallowing is just uncomfortable and painful, and keeps him from actually getting any rest.  
  
Coran tuts in sympathy. “I thought as much,” he says. “That’s why I brought this.” And he pulls a small crystal vial from the inner pocket of his suit jacket, holding it up for Shiro’s inspection. It’s filled with a deep orange liquid that looks thick and viscous. There’s maybe two tablespoons worth of liquid in the tiny bottle.  
  
Shiro stares at it a moment, and then raises an eyebrow at Coran, as if to ask, _What is it?_  
  
“Schathian extract,” Coran says promptly. “Useful stuff, this. Well, in the right circumstances. Virtually useless for adult Alteans—too mild to deal with illnesses in an advanced immune system. We used to use it all the time for infants and children, though. Much safer on their more delicate immune systems and bodies. I’m honestly surprised to find any on the ship, but we lucked out.”  
  
Shiro is not surprised to see a sad expression flicker across Coran’s face for a fraction of a second. There won’t be any more Altean children to treat with this stuff, and thinking about how much he and his race have lost has to hurt. Shiro wonders for a moment if Coran ever had kids of his own, and if he ever treated any of them with this stuff when they got sick. He thinks maybe Coran has, if that look in the Altean’s eyes is any indication.  
  
But the look vanishes quickly, and Coran is composed again as he continues, “I reviewed most of our medications for Altean illnesses, but I wasn’t able to find any adult medications safely compatible with human biology. Then I found this! As I said, it’s much milder, and should be much safer for your human systems. I apologize that it took so long to find something you could actually take, though. Had to review all the components to make sure it wouldn’t kill you and all that.”  
  
On the one hand, Shiro is grateful for the willingness to help, and the care and dedication to which Coran clearly researched everything before presenting a possible solution to Shiro’s illness that wouldn’t be lethal. On the other hand, the fact that his medicine of choice is meant for Altean children is frankly a little insulting to both him and the entire human race. He knows Allura can bench press a car with no problems, but humans can’t be _that_ weak by comparison to Alteans, can they?  
  
“You want to give me Altean baby medicine,” Shiro sums up, voice warped and hoarse still, even when he tries to force himself to speak in a lower register.  
  
“Now now, Number One, don’t reject it until you’ve tried it,” Coran says. “I certainly mean no insult by it! You humans have certainly come to impress me with your abilities and adaptability, certainly. Not everyone can be a paladin of Voltron. It certainly requires a fair bit of tenacity and strength, and you’ve all displayed it significantly.” He waves the tiny vial. “This will just help you get back up to optimal levels, that’s all.”  
  
Shiro snorts, but after a moment nods. There’s no point in acting petulant over it, or that would just make him more childish than he really wants to come across as, considering. “Alright,” he croaks. “May as well try it.”  
  
“Very good! That’s the spirit.” Coran pops the top off the vial, and hands it over to Shiro. “Drink all of that, if you will. That’s a full dose appropriate for your size.”  
  
Shiro takes the vial, and nearly gags at the smell that’s released when the top is removed. “Ugh. Smells terrible,” he rasps.  
  
“Medication usually does, I’ve found,” Coran says neutrally. Shiro nods in agreement, because, well, that’s _certainly_ one thing Altea and Earth have in common.  
  
Shiro grimaces, shakes his head, and tosses the whole thing back in one shot. It tastes as revolting as it smells, and Shiro chases it down afterwards with one of Keith’s water pouches (so, okay, those had come in handy after all). The taste still lingers on his tongue, and Shiro makes an involuntary disgusted face as he downs more water to try and get rid of it.  
  
But despite the absolutely awful smell and taste, Shiro finds there’s almost immediate relief with this stuff. His throat sort of tingles, and feels pleasantly cool and numb almost immediately. Swallowing doesn’t hurt, and he actually feels like maybe he could fall asleep like this.  
  
“Did it work?” Coran asks, as he obligingly takes back the vial.  
  
“I think so,” Shiro answers. His voice still isn’t back to normal, but it does sound less hoarse, and his throat doesn’t feel quite as strained when he talks. “Doesn’t hurt as much, anyway.”  
  
“Excellent!” Coran snaps his mustache with his free hand, looking distinctly pleased with himself. “Altean medicine is top class, you know. We may have our cryo-pods for most problems these days, but the rest of our care is excellent as well.”  
  
“Thanks, Coran,” Shiro says. He’ll grant the advisor his Altean bragging without complaint, because, well…baby medication or no, it’s definitely working, so he’s not _wrong._ “I’ll be fighting fit again in no time.”  
  
“I certainly hope so.” Coran gives him a conspiratorial look. “Quite frankly, I’m not sure how much longer I can play damage control between the Princess and the paladins. Certainly this has been an exercise in the necessity of a black paladin amongst the ranks.”  
  
Shiro has figured out that much himself. He nods in agreement.  
  
“I’ll let you rest, then,” Coran says, patting Shiro on the shoulder. “Sleep tight, and no nightly wanderings tonight. Nothing cures one faster than a good night’s rest, my grandfather always said.”   
“I’ll do my best,” Shiro promises, as the Altean takes his leave.  
  
Once the room is empty again apart from himself, Shiro turns the lights down, brings up some of the pre-loaded music on the holopad, and fills the humidifier with a little extra water. When everything’s all set once more, he settles down again on the bed, and waits. Sleep comes even faster than anticipated when he doesn’t have his throat bothering him. And with the comfortable white noise of the humidifier and the soft sounds of relaxing music, and the complete lack of pain every time he swallows, Shiro finds himself drifting off into a comfortable, dreamless sleep.  
  


* * *

  
  
In the morning, Shiro heads down to breakfast as always, to find a tired, rag-tag bunch at the table. Everyone looks exhausted, with the exception of possibly Coran, and nobody looks like they’re looking forward to the day.  
  
“Morning,” Shiro says, as he helps himself to the food goo of the day.  
  
“Morning, Shir— _hey!”_ Hunk interrupts himself to gasp. “Your voice—is it better?”  
  
“It didn’t sound all raspy,” Keith observes, looking curious.  
  
“Yup, I’m feeling much better,” Shiro says, demonstrating with a full sentence that he can, thankfully, pronounce without any strain on his throat or awkward, embarrassing cracks. Coran’s medication may have been for Altean children, but it also apparently works miracles, because Shiro woke up that morning feeling perfectly fine.  
  
“Thanks for everyone’s help yesterday,” he adds, offering each of them a nod and a smile. “I definitely wouldn’t have gotten better nearly as fast without everyone’s tricks and remedies.” All of them look pleased with themselves for contributing, even the less-currently-conscious members of the team like Pidge and Lance. He gives Coran a pointed look last, and the Altean—standing out of sight behind everyone else—gives a slight smile beneath his mustache and nods. He knows his medication was probably the actual cause for Shiro’s recovery, but he’ll let everyone else have their victory.  
  
“Anyway,” Shiro continues, “I’m guessing we haven’t reached our new destination yet—“ Allura nods in acknowledgment, “—so that’s another day of training for us paladins. Since I’m fighting fit again, I’ll take over training once more, so we can let Allura deal with her duties. Princess, thanks for helping out yesterday while I was recovering. Your assistance was appreciated.”  
  
Allura nods graciously, but when she thinks the others aren’t looking, she gives Shiro a rather grateful look with her eyes. The hilarious part is, the other paladins are giving him the same looks over Allura’s shoulder, ranging everywhere from relief to ‘oh thank god Shiro’s back.’ Coran looks rather amused by it, and gives Shiro a wink over _all_ their shoulders.  
  
Shiro keeps his face composed, but inwardly he chuckles to himself. Sometimes it’s nice to know you’re needed.  
  
And, he thinks, as he considers yesterday’s events and all the ways his team had tried to help him, and all the things they shared from their own lives to do so, sometimes it’s nice to to get a reminder you’re part of a family.  
  
Weird, cobbled together, and unconventional as it is, he wouldn’t trade it for anything.


End file.
